He laughed. “You’re still a young sprout. Imagine what I feel at my age.”
She smiled, leaned forward. “As I told you on the phone, Coach Wiliker, I’m writing a background article on the New York City mayoral candidate Alex Harrington. You were his coach during his years here at Bennington. You may remember you also coached his best friend, Kent Harper, also from Boston?”
Wiliker beamed out a smile. “Yep. They were some of our best years at Bennington Prep, championship years, because of them, especially Alex. I knew that boy would go places. I’m pleased he’s running for mayor of the Big Apple. Now, Ms. Briscoe, what exactly would you like to know about Alex?”
“May I record this, sir? I want to be sure I’m completely accurate.” At his nod, she set up her iPhone. “I hoped you could tell me your impressions of him—his habits, his strengths, his friendships, that sort of thing. Whatever comes to mind about him and Kent, in your own words. I know it’s been a long time, but it seems you have fond memories of both of them. I’ll ask questions if I need more.”
He nodded, leaned toward her, clasped his big hands on top of his desk. “I remember Kent and Alex were the greatest of friends, smart boys from the best families. Both were into those computer games at the time, every spare minute—you know boys—but both were really popular, with the boys and the girls.” A wink. “Alex wanted something, he’d go after it.”
“And Kent?”
“Kent was the more thoughtful of the two, maybe more careful, but Alex threw himself into an activity, his goal always to win. Kent might dip in a toe first, if you get my meaning. I guess I’d say Kent was more the junior partner of the friendship, but again, it was a long time ago, and boys become men and change. I remember Alex was a superb athlete and was one of the most competitive students I’d ever met. I do remember in lacrosse he always took charge, never quit out there on the field; only winning was good enough for him. Of course that rubbed off on his teammates, and that’s why we won those championships. As I recall, both Alex and Kent were looked up to by their teammates for their skill, their desire to win. But maybe it’d be fair to say Kent wasn’t as much in-your-face.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean that exactly as it came out. Alex was—is—as I’ve said, a natural leader, that’s all I meant.”
“Of course. Now, Alex was the captain of the lacrosse team in both his junior and senior years, right?”
“Yes, well, he was named captain his junior year only because the senior-year captain, Jordan Jeffers, was injured in an automobile accident and couldn’t play.” Wiliker shook his head. “An awful thing, I remember it clearly, a hit-and-run, left the boy on the side of the road. He might have died if a jogger hadn’t found him. Broken arm, broken leg, internal injuries, poor kid. It’s a miracle he survived.”
Your work, Alex? Because he had something you wanted? Mia jotted down Jeffers’s name.
“Do you remember if Jordan and Alex were friends?”
“Of course they were. I remember Alex and Jordan’s younger sister were chummy for a while—sorry, can’t remember her name, been too long.”
“Don’t worry about it. Your memory is amazing, Coach. So after the Jeffers boy was injured, Alex became the captain?”
Coach nodded. “I remember how hard he worked out with the trainers in the weight room to improve his strength and endurance, encouraged his teammates to do the same. That and his never-say-die leadership, that’s why we won those championships.”
Mia asked, “Any other girlfriends you knew of, Coach? For Alex and Kent?”
Wiliker tapped the side of his head. “Girlfriends—sorry, it’s impossible to remember the kids’ romances from sixteen years ago. I only remember Jordan’s sister because of the accident. There were probably other girls, sure, since both Alex and Kent were popular. I do remember the boys were always as close as fleas, did everything together.”
Mia said, “And that would include dating, no doubt?”
“Well, probably, but kids even then seemed to prefer going out together in packs. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.”
Mia had done some research on missing girls from prep schools, and had hit pay dirt. She said, “Do you remember Teresa Jacobs? She disappeared in her senior year?”
Wiliker scratched his bald head, dislodged his glasses, grabbed them, and slid them back up his forehead. “Of course, now you say her name. She was in that same class, I think. It was quite a hullabaloo; there were rumors, never substantiated, that she was doing drugs and ran away, common enough, but not here, not at Bennington. The local Glenbridge police weren’t ever able to turn anything up or I’d know about it. It was a sad thing, scared all the kids and parents.”
Mia said, “Do you happen to remember if Alex knew her? If the police spoke to him?”
Wiliker looked surprised, but said easily, “Well, the police spoke to everyone, me included, even the nutritionist, Ms. Busbee. No one knew anything. Of course Alex knew her, she was the captain of the girls’ lacrosse team, another reason she wouldn’t touch drugs. She was an athlete. Her parents—imagine not knowing what happened to your child? Living your whole life without knowing? I remember after Teresa disappeared I kept my own kids really close.”
“Ah, and did Teresa and Alex date?”
Coach shook his head. “I don’t remember. It was sixteen years ago—” He tapped his head. “Old brain.”
Mia pulled the two photos Dirk had enhanced out of her messenger bag, placed them on Wiliker’s desk. “Do you recognize either of these men?”
Wiliker pulled down his black-framed glasses and studied the two photos. He said, “These are older, aren’t they?”
“Yes, seven years old.”
She saw he wanted to be helpful, but he finally shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Briscoe, but it’s hard to make out their features since they’re not facing the camera, only bits of their profiles, and they’re a bit blurry. I can’t imagine why these particular photos are important to this article you’re writing about Alex Harrington.”
Mia held her breath, pointed. “Bear with me. Do you see the notch in this man’s ear? Like he was hurt, maybe playing sports?”
Coach brought the photo close. Slowly, he nodded. “I see it, looks like an injury that healed years ago. I’ve seen several like that when a boy gets hit on the ear with a lacrosse stick.”
“Do you remember if Alex Harrington was ever injured? An injury like this?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. It was back in his junior year before the captain, Jordan, was hurt. He accidentally hit Alex with a lacrosse stick. The reason I remember his injury so well is because I was the one who took him to our nurse.”
“Tell me, what is Jordan Jeffers doing now?”
“Why do you want to know about Jordan Jeffers?”
“Again, Coach, just being thorough.”
“Jordan never played lacrosse again but he did graduate, probably went to some Ivy League college, no doubt, which is what the great majority of Bennington students do. I heard he’s fine now, lives in Montpelier, runs his family’s chain of restaurants.” He paused a moment, pointed to the photo. “You think this man is Alex? Why do you care? Why would anyone care?”
Mia shrugged. “Just a bit of interest, that’s all. Since you knew him very well for four years I thought I’d ask.”
“It could be Alex, but Ms. Briscoe, you should show this to Alex, not me.” He straightened in his chair, suddenly stiff, his eyes narrowed. “Wait. Why did you show me that photo? Why does it matter if Alex Harrington tore his earlobe? Surely an injury that minor can’t be important to your article.”
Mia gave him a fat smile. “A friend of his showed me the photo, name of Benny Holmes, said he’d been to a great party with Alex, celebrating something, he couldn’t remember, someone took this photo and he’d kept it. Before I used it, I wanted to be sure it was really Alex.”
Wiliker was getting suspicious. She couldn’t blame him, she’d gotten too heavy-handed.
But she’d gotten what she wanted. Time to pack up her tent and go home. Mia tucked her tablet back in her messenger bag, slipped her cell into her coat pocket, and rose. She quickly pulled on her coat. “I won’t take any more of your time. Thank you, Coach Wiliker, you’ve added depth, some fine details I’ll be able to use in my article. When I see Alex, I’ll tell him I spoke with you, tell him how fondly you remember him.”
That bit of praise unbent him enough to shake her hand.
Mia was back on the road and headed to New York City a few minutes later. Now she could keep her promise to Pilar Kaplan, the administrative assistant she’d spoken to at Harvard when she had stopped there to talk to Alex’s professors. No need to give her name out to anyone as a witness. Pilar had been quite sure it was Alex in the picture, claimed she recognized his old bracelet, said he never took it off. Now Mia knew Alex Harrington’s earlobe had been torn by a lacrosse stick when he was sixteen.
You didn’t get it fixed until much later, right, Alex? Why? Was it when you took charge of your family’s business in New York? She could find the doctor who repaired his earlobe if he denied it, and Tommy Maitland could get the police report on Teresa Jacobs, the girl who went missing at Bennington, just as Serena did at the Delta Rho Phi rave.
27
Olivia
Safe House
Wednesday evening
Chas Gaylin sat at the banged-up table in the ancient kitchen that looked older than he was, drinking coffee. He eyed Olivia as she paced up and down the small kitchen, then stood at the counter staring at a box of lasagna pasta as if she were trying to figure out what to do with it, then started pacing again.
Gay had come back on duty at the safe house an hour before and would stay with Olivia until eight o’clock in the morning, when Sue Ling Smith would relieve him again. He said easily, “I wish you’d stop pacing, makes me nervous, and don’t look out the window, keep the curtain closed. Sue Ling told me that FBI agent set you to calling everyone you and Mike ever met to ask if they’d seen Mike. Sounds like a waste of time, you ask me, busywork to keep you off the street. Seems to me it’s making you a little crazy. You want to tell me about seeing the shrink with Agent Savich?”
“No,” she said and tossed him an apple, then took one for herself and bit in.
“Thanks for the apple,” Gay said, polished it on his sleeve, pointed to the pasta. “So we’re having lasagna for dinner?”
“Lasagna? Hmm. Maybe. Did you eat a taco with Ruth in the FBI cafeteria? Any belly pains from FBI food poisoning?”
“Gut’s fine. For a taco, it tasted okay. I like Ruth. She’s sharp, a real go-getter. Do you know she has a stepson who’s a big-deal baseball pitcher? He’s going to Virginia Tech on a scholarship? She told me he brought in the regional championship. So did you make the calls Agent Savich told you to do? I don’t suppose you found out anything?”
She gave him a crooked grin. “Well, one of Mike’s soccer team buddies told me he’d spotted Mike coming out of Sunny’s Bar in Tyson’s Corner a couple of days ago.”
“Idiot. Mike wouldn’t be caught dead in Sunny’s, it’s basketball on all the TVs, not soccer.”
“Agreed. I think he told me that because he’s divorced now and wanted to ask me out on a date. I think you’re right, Agent Savich was only trying to give me something to do. He couldn’t have expected any of those people would tell me anything new. Gay, you’re still checking in at Langley, and I know you’ve got your own sources. Does anyone have any more of an idea where Mike could be?”
Gay shook his head. “You know I’d tell you if I knew anything.” He eyed her a minute. She’d stopped her pacing, poured herself a glass of water, but she still looked like she wanted to bust out of her skin. Of course she was scared for Mike, for herself, but there was something else.
Gay said, “You gonna tell me what it’s like being hypnotized? Did that shrink fill in any of the blanks for you?”
Olivia felt a surge of guilt. She wanted to tell him she’d remembered what Hashem had said, but Dillon had asked her to keep it to herself because both Hashem and the mission had been betrayed and they didn’t know who on the food chain was responsible. She said, “I couldn’t really imagine going under, I mean, he had this swinging gold watch, and how silly was that? But I did. There was nothing to it really. I just sort of faded out of the picture.” She paused a second, then asked, “I heard your daughter is having a baby. Congratulations.”
So it was need-to-know and he wasn’t in the loop. Gay said, “Yeah, thanks, wife’s so excited she’s already bought out one of those baby stores. She’s over with Delia right now, the two of them are wondering what color to paint the frigging nursery. I told her to flip a coin.”
Olivia laughed. “At least she didn’t shoot you, so that’s good.”
Helmut knew that word and barked, waved his tail nonstop, like a metronome.
“About the lasagna, I was planning on making my mother’s recipe, but I forgot the fresh tomatoes. Helmut, yes, yes, I know you’re starving. I’ve got your dinner.” She poured his food into his bowl, petted his head, and watched him dig in like it was his last meal.
“He’s a great dog, Olivia. How old is he?”
“Two years. When I’m out of the country, Linda in Eastern Affairs or my friend Julia takes him in.”
Gay said, “You know, we can’t eat lasagna without tomatoes, so how about we have pizza instead? I’ll go for pepperoni and artichoke.” He looked at her like a kid on Christmas morning.
Olivia’s stomach growled. “Okay, sounds good to me, but no artichokes for me, I’m pepperoni with onion and black olive.”
Gay paused a moment. “Like Mike.”
When he called in their order to Pizza Nirvana, double pepperoni and artichokes for him, he sounded positively buoyant. He punched off his cell. “Thirty minutes, then I’ll go pick it up, won’t have it delivered for obvious reasons.”
“Obvious?”
“You already forget the bad guys came to your house Monday night?”
“Of course not, but we’re in a safe house, for goodness’ sake. No one knows we’re here, unless you and Helmut sold me out.”
He shook his head. “When I get back, I’ll tell you a story about a hoagie delivery boy with a Beretta under his hoodie, happened about five years ago.”
She snorted. “You’re making it up. Come on, Gay, you called it in, I’ll do the pickup.”
“Nope, forget it. You’re going to stay behind locked doors.”
“Come on, Gay, Pizza Nirvana’s only half a mile away, lots of traffic all the way, lots of people. I’ll be in and out in a flash. No worries.” She pulled her car keys out of her jeans pocket, tossed them in the air, caught them again, leaned down to rub Helmut’s ears. “I really need to get out, breathe some of this crisp air.”
“It’s thirty degrees out, a bit beyond crisp.”
“Gay, really, I’m going nuts. I’ll leave Helmut to protect you. He saved my bacon Monday night.” She went down on her knees, took Helmut’s head between her hands, looked into his beautiful eyes. “You will stay here and guard Gay. I’ll bring you one of those cheese sticks you like.” She looked up at Gay. “You could give Helmut a short walk, but not too long, he hates the cold.”
Gay took a final bite of his apple, banked the core into the wastebasket, and clapped his hands. Helmut trotted over to him, butted his golden head against his hands. “My old dog, Gamble, died a couple of years ago. Helmut here makes me wonder if I should get another mutt.” He remembered there was a basketball game on tonight between his beloved Wizards and the Bucks. He sighed, looked at his watch. “Okay, you fetch the pizzas and I’ll walk Helmut, give both of us some exercise. You got your Glock?”
“Of course.”
He walked with her to the front hall. “I know in my head you’re right, no one can know you’re here, but—you be careful anyway, Hildebrandt. Oh yeah, when you get back you can tell me what you were doing on the Web for hours.”
That brought her to a stop. “How did you know?”
“It’s not a big house. I walked behind you, you never heard me. I’m a ghost.”
Olivia sighed. She couldn’t tell him, so she lied clean. “Only thing interesting I found was a nest of drug dealers out of Rwanda who supply the Middle East.”
“Sure, Hildebrandt, like I’ll believe that.”
She patted his hand. “Don’t worry about me, Gay. And you stay, Helmut. Guard Gay.” Olivia bundled up against the cold and bitter wind, wondered how winter could still be so dug in in the middle of March.
Gay watched her run to her car, climb in, and lock the doors before he closed the front door again.
Olivia turned the heater on full blast and settled in until it began to warm. Of course Gay knew she was cutting him out. She couldn’t tell him she was researching French arms dealers, studying their glossy web pages, and then, frustrated, anything she could find on the dark Web. Why had she picked Rwanda of all places? She wondered what Dillon Savich was doing.
She backed slowly out of the narrow driveway, looked over all the cars parked in the pleasant middle-class neighborhood, didn’t see anything suspicious. Everyone was inside, eating dinner, staying warm. She headed out.
Olivia turned onto Wilton Avenue and into traffic, and again, checked her rearview. She saw no one following.
She pulled into the Willow Springs strip mall. Not many people about except the few inside the pizza place. She parked, dashed into the awesome warmth, heard her stomach growl at the divine smells. She breathed them in, gave her name, chatted with the counter girl while she waited, a perky eighteen-year-old, if that, and paid. She walked out carrying two pizza boxes and cheese sticks for Helmut, and again, she paused, looked all around her. She saw a young couple hurrying toward the Mexican restaurant, another man hurrying to his car. Nothing suspicious.
She slid into her RAV4, turned on the heat, and got ready to back out. A man’s voice, with a French accent, came from behind her.
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